


Could have been me, could have been you

by yathrin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Bittersweet, Character Study, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, canon personalities tho, reverse au, softie fallen aziraphale and edgy angel crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yathrin/pseuds/yathrin
Summary: Aziraphale didn't mean to fall. He had only stood up for what he thought was right, and had decried what he thought wrong.Crowley can't help but think that he had been a coward. He should have fallen too.





	Could have been me, could have been you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greeneon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneon/gifts).

> StillAngel!Crowley and Fallen!Aziraphale. A reverse AU in which both of them keep their canon personalities. I personally don't find edgy demon Aziraphale and trembling shy Crowley as interesting as seeing their canon selves walk in each other's shoes for a change. I'd like to write more of this, but who knows. Thanks for reading!

He found him after the Fall. A tiny wreckage of a celestial being, all curled up and shaking in some God-forsaken brimstone hole. Crowley approached him slowly.

Upon closer inspection, he sort of recognized the other's platinum curls, despite the soot and coal staining them, and he was certain he would have recognized his face, too, hadn't it been buried in his arms.

“I don't understand,” the sobbing man mumbled.

Crowley tilted his head, but said nothing.

“I truly don't...” he kept going, hands gesticulating under the heavy weight of his black robe and sloping shoulders. “All I ever did was... question things! Is that such an awful deed? Does this seem like a just punishment to You?”

In that moment he lifted his head to face the enraged, darkened skies looming over them, imploring. His full cheeks were run down with tears. Only then did he realize Crowley was there, standing, all of his weight supported on one of his long lengs. Staring. Awkwardly so, in fact, at the weeping man in front of him. Crowley confirmed he had seen him before. Up in Heaven, not too often, but enough to remember him. Always cheerful and bright, and obliging to the point of nearing nuisance. It made it all the stranger that he, of all people, would have ended up like this.

“Well, if it's any consolation,” Crowley parted his thin lips, “I do think the Big Guy _might_ have overreacted.” He glanced up above for a second. “A bit.” He reached down to the ground and casually grabbad a small stone, deformed after having been molten in the fiery pits that the Fallen angels had created upon very literally falling. After some shallow observation –more a distraction for himself, who was starting to feel self-conscious– than genuine interest, he then tossed it aside and went back to look at the crying man, who had now stopped, eyebrows still furrowed. Probably in confusion, Crowley thought.

When he was close enough, he drew a big toothy smile on his face. “Name's Crowley.” And he extended his hand towards him, both to help him up from the burnt ground and as a greeting and exhibition of his good will. Ostensibly the right course of action, the other man, who was wailing no more, wiped his cheeks with his sleeves (leaving a dark trail of ash and dirt on them), curved his own lips in a shy smile and reached out to Crowley's hand with his.

“A-aziraphale–”

Crowley was just about to answer the handshake he himself had started, but he leapt back instead the moment he saw...

“What on Heaven are _those_?!”

Aziraphale was also startled out of place. “What? What is it?”

Crowley showed him his teeth and pointed at them with a slender index finger. “Your... your...”

Aziraphale mimicked him and brought his hand to his half-open mouth. His tongue did the survey first, though, sliding slowly over the edge of his upper teeth until he reached his canine tooth's pointy end and almost got cut from it.

“This is a nightmare...”

The fallen angel slapped Crowley's approaching hand, believing it was trying to inspect his newly-found fangs. His intention was solely to point at them – well, maybe even lift a bit of upper lip if he had the chance so he could see the fangs better –.

“Are those two the only ones?” Crowley asked, genuine curiosity having taken over his former surprise.

“I hope so,” Aziraphale responded.

“They look really interesting, to be fair,” Crowley added with an undertone of amusement in his voice he didn't try to conceal.

“They're awful!”

Crowley took a couple of steps back. One might have thought the action born out of respect for the grieving ex-angel's personal space. One would have been wrong.

“Yes, well, if that's a bother then there's another thing you're probably not going to like much either...” Crowley dragged the words and wrinkled his nose. Following the movement of Crowley's eyes, Aziraphale's own reached the tip of his feathery wings, and opened wide in sheer horror.

“My wings! What happened to my wings?!”

Turning around like a dog chasing its tail, he frantically tried to get a better angle of the huge appendages that spread from his shoulder blades. The once blinding white glow was there no more, replaced by a pitch shade of black instead.

“They've gone black... completely black!”

“It's not so bad. They have this blueish shimmer, like a magpie's. Kind of neat, if you ask me...” Crowley interjected.

“I didn't ask!!” Aziraphale was in a sorry state, all distressed and anguished about himself. He was wringing his coal-stained hands with such disheartenment and his face portrayed such consternation, Crowley felt his figurative heart sink a little.

“Hey, c'mon. There's no use wallowing in your misery, what can you do about it now anyway?”

Aziraphale looked at him intently, as if trying to figure out what to do next. His irises were an amber hue Crowley had never seen before. He wouldn't say it now, as Aziraphale probably hadn't noticed that yet either, and he was positive another unpleasant surprise would do him in for good, but Crowley couldn't help but think that change was sort of fascinating too. Could that have been him, had he rebelled...?, he wondered. Would he have looked so lost and alone, too?

“Let's get you out of here. Besides, you'll get wrinkles on your forehead if you keep sulking,” he said, partially because he didn't want to follow the train of thought he had dug up.

“You shouldn't be helping me.”

Aziraphale's voice came out weak. Was he so ashamed of his sharp teeth he wanted to keep his mouth shut? No, there was something else. A feeling of shame, right, but for entirely different reasons. It had sounded more along the lines of “you shouldn't be here.” “You shouldn'tn even touch me.” He had taken a step away from Crowley, and he was attempting to raise a silent barrier around himself using his rejection of Crowley's help as its foundation stone. That wouldn't do; that wouldn't do at all.

Crowley strode forward.

“Probably. But I bet everyone is too busy to notice.”

And he repeated his offer, outstretching a pale hand to Aziraphale.

After a contemplative pause that Crowley thought eternal, Aziraphale finally unlocked his hands and dusted off his robes –not that it was too effective, but it served the purpose of soothing him. They finally had the handshake they were due and Crowley was surprised to note Aziraphale's grasp firm and earnest. And also warm. Like, fiery warm.

“Crowley, right? It doesn't sound too Heaven-like.”

“That's not really my, you know, Angel Name. That one was way too posh. I chose another one myself. Shorter, more elegant, with a bit of an edge, don't you think? You're now a bigger expert than I in this regard.”

Aziraphale smiled again. This time he didn't seem to remember, or mind, the sharp fangs that bit into his lower lip. They started walking through the burnt landscape together, stark white wings swaying next to raven ones.


End file.
